This NCIS story takes place at the beginning of my story 'Fantasy Affair', though quite behind the scenes. A year ago I presented a glimpse into a future NCIS called 'Into the Light' which depicted the final retirement of Leroy Jethro Gibbs. It introduced the character of Su Lin Palmer, who is the central figure of this story. She'll appear again in a mystery episode 'Penalties'.
NCIS is owned and copyrighted by Belisarius Productions. I make no money on this. The characters referred to in this story are purely fictional and bear no similarity to anyone, living, dead or yet to be born.
The time is the late-2030's as well as 2010. Come see how.

Otherworld
JMK758
Chapter One
A New Case

The woman seated at the other side of my desk is thirty years old, black hair, blue pants suit, diamond ring and gold wedding band on her left hand, an old gold Rolex from the early twenty-teens on the same arm. The crumpled white handkerchief in her hands is already damp from tears and she clings tightly to that black purse upon her lap. She's been here in my office for ten minutes already and I don't know much more about why she's here than when she'd first knocked on my outer door.

All I do know, when I dropped my shields, is that she has slightly better self control than I'd thought. Outwardly she's clearly frightened and prone to tears; inwardly she's a maelstrom of panic.

I sit still, give her my best 'I'm-here-to-help-you' expression, while I debate whether to cast a calming spell so she'll stop crying long enough to tell me why she's here. Discretion and professionalism win out, of course. It's never a good idea to influence anyone's emotions without an overwhelmingly good reason, and it's quite unethical to cast a spell on a client. Sorry, potential client.

"Ms. Palmer, I really need you to-" She says nothing more; it makes me wonder if she truly knows what she wants.

"Mrs. Carson, you came to me to find and stop your husband John before he, quote, 'does something stupid'." There, that's pretty much all I've gleaned in ten minutes. "What makes you think he will do 'something stupid'?"

"I know him. He's always doing something stupid."

x

Okay, big help there. It may make for an interesting marriage, but as a client to P.P.I. Contact it's not very helpful. Did she think that as a fellow woman I'd simply understand? I've often thought that, as a breed, men are hard-wired for stupidity, and many men have helped me to maintain that outlook, but that indulgent thought'll get me nowhere in solving this case - whatever it is. "Can you give me something specific, preferably about this case?"

The call for specifics seems to rally her, as I had hoped. She sees I'm willing to help and fights back tears enough to start speaking intelligibly. "Well, John's been obsessed for years about his father, who's been in prison for almost all of John's life and who died about four months ago. He blames the people who sent his father to prison for cheating him out of a life with him. I'm scared he's going to go after them."

"Mrs. Carson, this is a matter for the police–"

"I can't go to the police, they'll kill him!" All right, I'll come back to that. The woman looks up over my head, then meets my eyes and declares "you're the only one who can help me."

Good for the ego, but I have my doubts. I don't glance back; there's only one thing on the wall behind me and I know it intimately. It's a large color photograph of a left eye that 'aunt' Abby gave me when I'd opened 'Otherworld Investigations' two years ago. I'd liked it so much I made it the company's official logo, a bit to my dad's chagrin since it's his left eye. It's a nice lot of colors, primarily hazel - green to me - but when you look closely at an iris it's never one solid color. Inside the pupil is a five pointed silver star enclosed in a silver circle about the edge. I think of aunt Abby and her sense of humor when I look at it, since she chose my dad's eye. He's nice and conservatively normal; mom and I are the Witches.

Nonetheless, to see it often makes me feel closer to them, like in a sense they're both watching over me.

x

"Mrs. Carson, since you selected 'Otherworld Investigations', you are undoubtedly aware that I specialize in what people call the 'supernormal'. I can find your husband, I'm sure of that; but if he is bent on revenge, his actions may well cross the boundary into the criminal and that's outside my jurisdiction. It becomes an MPDC matter."

I let her digest this. I don't like mentioning Metro PD but by law I have to. It's a matter of transparency. The provisions of my P.P.I. license are specific. Over the years, 'Paranormal Investigation' has become a legitimately recognized practice far removed from its earlier definition. We do not investigate the supernormal; we use the supernormal for our investigations.

But despite my specialty, I am not a sworn police officer. I gather information, and do so for both private clients as well as for the MPDC, with whom I have a working relationship and occasionally a substantial - if inconsistent - Consulting retainer. This means that sometimes they call me in and pay me and sometimes they tell me to get lost - usually depending upon the officer heading said investigation. I'd gotten this consulting contract primarily by having a history of getting the job done where few who work inside the box can do it. I do not work inside the box.

To be honest, there are days I have trouble finding the box.

But when it comes to criminal activity, unless it comes to Citizens' Arrests with the myriad laws covering that, most of the time I turn over my information, collect my fee and bow out. Gracefully.

But if my Contracted Investigation turns up any criminal activity, I'm required by law to notify Metro.

The penalties for not doing so I intend never to risk.

x

"Ms. Palmer, I'll pay anything you ask, sign whatever you want. Just find him. Stop him before he does something terrible."

"All right, Mrs. Johnson, my fee is fifteen hundred a day plus expenses. There is a scale of additional fees should such services become necessary." I pull out a paper from the middle drawer of my desk and pass it to her. Now that she's sure I'll help, she doesn't bat an eye at the prices, though the least expensive item is $500.

"Done. When can you start?"

"Right away." I take from another folder in the drawer a standard contract and hand it to her. She is either the world's foremost speed reader or barely glances at the seventy three lines of print before she takes a pen out of her purse and signs it. Then she pulls out a checkbook, opens it and fills out a check for $4,500. She's read that much.

When she hands the papers to me, it's a done deal. "How will you begin?"

"With some tough questions. First, do you have a picture of your husband?"

"Right here." she pulls from her purse a three by five photograph and hands it to me. Brown hair, brown eyes, cleft chin; I memorize it so I'll know him on sight and slip it and the other papers into a file folder.

"You said your father-in-law was in prison. For how long?"

"More than twenty five years."

"Why?"

"He was accused of stealing military secrets, plans for a weapon."

"Did he do it?"

"Not according to John, but the government locked him up and threw away the key. Every time a Parole Hearing would come up, the Army always squashed it. Ultimately John gave up hope - and chose revenge instead."

"And you say he's looking for revenge against the people who put his father in jail? Over twenty five years ago? Who are they?"

"They're Federal Agents, police for the Navy and Marines, the 'NCIS'. I never learned their first names, any time John mentioned them it was with such hatred I didn't want to go into anything. I only know the names Gibbs, DiNozzo, McGee and Daveed."

x

My stomach clenches at those familiar names, and I wonder how seriously I've offended the Goddess that this woman comes to me, of all the admittedly few possible people, to do this. I keep my hands still, flat upon the desktop with considerable effort.

"I'm afraid he's going to be disappointed. You see, I know these people. Leroy Jethro Gibbs passed away over a year ago; he was close to ninety. Anthony DiNozzo is Director of NCIS, the headquarters is here in DC. Professor Timothy McGee teaches Computer Forensics at George Washington University and Ziva David moved back to Israel eight years ago, where she's now Deputy Director of the Israeli Secret Service."

"You're sure Mr. Gibbs is dead?"

"I was at the hospital when he died."

"Why were you there?"

I don't want to answer that question, so I don't. It's none of her business anyway. LeeJay Gibbs was an honorary 'uncle' to me; I knew him - well, he knew me from when I was an infant in the Maternity Ward. My memories start quite a bit later, of course. I knew all the people mom and dad worked most closely with as 'aunt' this and 'uncle' that and his death, though peaceful, had hit me hard. I remember doing a lot of crying that day, because we knew for hours before that the end had come.

It was also the last time everyone - almost everyone - I knew from my childhood had been together. Until the next funeral, that is.

"I can tell you that if your husband wants revenge against those four people he'll have a hard time. The law requires that I warn the three surviving principals," Warn? I'd stand guard over all of them if I could, "and in one case it's simply far too late."

She sits back. "I don't know whether to be relieved or disappointed. But you said you could find him?"

"Yes," I tell her, and don't comment on her words. If I'm going to keep secrets, I can't act offended if she's disappointed they're out of reach.

x

I reach into the lower right drawer and pull out a small mahogany box. It's four inches square and two high, inlayed on top with a circled star of lighter wood and, when I lift the lid, inside are a dozen sterling silver disks, each about the size of a silver dollar, each sealed in clear plastic.

"Mrs. Carson, did you perhaps bring something personal of your husband's, something only he would have contact with?"

"No, I didn't know you'd need anything. I could go home and get something. But wait;" she takes out her wallet and pulls out her Identity chit. "This is the only thing I have that I'm sure he's the only other one who's touched it in years."

"That should do." The two by three metal chit contains everything, in a 100MB data cell, that will ever be known about Ruth Carson. I'd never let anyone but my husband touch mine - if I had a husband.

She tears open the plastic and lets the silver disk slide out to lay upon the chit.

I don't react to her knowledge, the average person wouldn't have a clue as to what to do. She's clearly no stranger to Wiccan magic.

x

"That will be sufficient. Without touching the disk, use your chit to slide it back into the bag." She's finished before I reach the end and I won't ask anything at this point. I'll wait until I see what I get from the disk before I question her further. Most people have to go through this twice; they always muck up the first try.

"It's possible I'll get an impression right away. Please wait in the outer room. Tina can get you a coffee or whatever else you'd like." I take a business card out of the stand on the corner of the desk and hand it to her. The ivory card contains the company name and logo, a line drawing of the photo above my head with the circle pentagram prominent in it, my name and contact information.

"Miss Su Lin Palmer?"

"I don't like 'Ms'. It's less being old fashioned and more not being pretentious. In my business misunderstandings, even in small things, can come back to haunt you." I don't mention that while my jobs occasionally involve finding lost people, this is my almost subtle way of saying that I would ultimately like to find someone for myself.

When she's gone I stand up and come around to the front of the desk. As I do so, I catch a glimpse of myself in the full length Scrying mirror on the right wall beside the door. The image is all too familiar, but I am just vain enough to take a second to make sure everything is how I want it to be. Jet black hair styled to fall just below my shoulders - the black hair I'd inherited from my mother is enhanced by my father's curls to give me just enough of a wave.

Since I will be leaving the office, possibly immediately, I check my red dress. The small sterling silver Wicca pin - the circle star - glints above my left breast. I have mom's Asian complexion and features, even to the eyes, but they are dad's 'hazel' eyes, and in height I fall midway between them but closer to mom's. People have said I look like mom did when she was my age, but I hate comparisons, always have.

My birth certificate does bear the names Susan Linda (father's name: James, mother's name: Michelle) but I go by Su Lin.

Again, it's the eyes.